


if you leave, then take me please

by sourdieselouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Depression, Drinking, Happy Ending, Hurt, Insomnia, Kinda Fluffy, LIam's POV, M/M, No Smut, Suicide, because i needed closure personally, drug usage, hemingway is very important, hopefully you feel the same, please make sure you read these trigger warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 22:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17068730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourdieselouis/pseuds/sourdieselouis
Summary: Cold, bitter, and full of heart ache. He is the literal embodiment of just that.





	if you leave, then take me please

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really personal story for me because a lot of it spurred from emotional and mental trauma throughout the past four years of my life. I kept out a lot, but it gives a minor glimpse into my mind. However, the last two sections reference things that did not happen in my life, so please keep that in mind. I wrote to cope, so here it is. Please remember that this does reference disorders and suicide, so if you are sensitive to this material, I plead that you read with caution. Also, this story is completely told from Liam's point-of-view. I structured the story the way I did for a reason. Title is from '210 Lilac Sky" by Goody Grace. Here is a list of songs that helped me on my journey:  
> -say something - a great big world ft christina aguilera  
> -save myself - ed sheeran  
> -certain things - james arthur ft. chasing grace  
> -nirvana - sam smith  
> -if it means a lot to you - a day to remember  
> -still hurting - jason robert brown  
> -are we there yet - ingrid michaelson  
> -that home -cinematic orchestra  
> Again, please be kind, remember the warnings, and I hope you enjoy. x

_ The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places. - Ernest Hemingway. _

 

-

 

I despise the hours of the morning when it is still dark outside, the silence surrounds the neighborhood, and not a single soul besides me is awake. My body always feels numb as I sit out on the back porch just staring into the darkness of the world, my breath visibly whirling in front of my face. It has been four months since I was clinically diagnosed with insomnia. It’s not like it just takes hours longer for me to fall asleep at night resulting in only three or four hours of sleep. My mind will stay up running for up to three days without my eyelids fluttering shut once.

 

These past few months have damaged my health tremendously. I can no longer seem to focus on what is crucial. It takes so much strength to just take a walk outside of my home. My skin is rough and pale. My eyes no longer hold a warm chocolate tone, but now a dull brown that resembles something like a paper lunch sack. My forearms and calves are scattered with raised scar tissue from the hours of relentless scratching. I then end up biting my nails down to nubs after panicking over the mess I have made only to have them grow out again causing the process to start all over. My body forever aches for a simple night’s rest, but my thoughts are relentless. The images that flow into my head inflict self-doubt and, always, just a single tear. If someone asked me “ _ a penny for your thoughts?”  _ words would not be able to flow from my mouth for my mind is too cruel.

 

A rustle of bed sheets comes from behind the chair I sit lounging in, my eyes trained on the waning gibbous flawed surface above me. I know it is him. It always is him. However, it always renders me speechless as to why it is him behind me. The soft breeze causes the smell of him to encircle me making my eyes fall shut for a brief moment.

 

“My, it feels like death is upon us,” he murmured above me. That was the cue for me to open my eyes. It was always the cue. It had been for the past two months. No matter what season it happened to be, it was always bitter outside.

 

“You know you don’t have to do this,” I manage to croak out, the response customary. I already know that he knows that, but he still stays.

 

“You don’t have to let me stay here if it pains you so bad,” his voice sharp against the stagnant air. He is so right, yet he is so wrong. His being hurts my existence, but I desire to keep him part of my life for as long as I possibly can.

 

It was right after I was diagnosed, that was when he told me that he would be gone in a year to go back to school. On the opposite side of the country. Three months later I confessed my love after being torn apart in a cheap fast food restaurant parking lot when he said he loved my best friend, but he couldn’t possibly start a relationship that he knew would just come to an end when he left. He was nice about it, but I was beyond distraught. My heart throbbed in misery. I didn’t speak with him for a few days. However, I never said it was because of him.

 

Just a couple weeks later I moved in with him. I wasn’t safe with only my thoughts as company at my house. He started driving me to work in the morning at the local coffee shop even though it meant getting up at five to shower and get me there on time. I would drink cup after cup of English breakfast tea with a splash of milk which led to trip after trip to the toilets and a quick cry for my self-pity. I would work from the first to the last customer of my day just so I would have something to distract myself throughout the day. With the last hour of my shift chugging along, he always stops in and waits for my heart to be given over to him. He is patient and quiet as he sits in the corner sipping an unsweetened traditional macchiato whilst reading some European legends of sorts. He takes me home for a small meal, and if we are lucky enough to escape my emotions, a movie. The day ends with us parting ways; him to his bed and I to the back porch after I knew he was silently asleep.

 

Next thing I knew, my voice whispered out something I never thought would pass my tightly sealed lips, “May I come lay with you?”

 

It was silent, aside from the soft whistling of the wind, for a couple moments. The rustling from the bed sheets broke the quietness surrounding our two beings. Next thing I saw was his figure crouched down in front of my curled one in the wicker chair. In the dim light that the moon was providing I saw a smile on his face. Oh my, it was so beautiful. It struck my heart with such amazement and beauty that I had to choke back a sob. His gentle hand touched the palm of mine, giving it a tender squeeze and then a small tug.

 

“Never be afraid to ask for such thing. Bodily contact is soothing. It is good for the soul. Come lay with me?” he returned my question.

 

My bones and muscles felt frozen in shock as his voice penetrated my heart. I gave in with all I had as I placed the soles of my feet down on the cold wood of the deck, his body rising above me to standing. I pushed with a might so great to get up out of my chair that I had no idea from where it possibly came. My weak frame collapsed against his sturdier one, and I cried: a thing I vowed to never let him see me do.

I don’t really think he knew how to react to my current state. It was almost like he was an exotic foreign species brought to a new land that had to try to adapt to its surroundings. His arms tentatively wrapped themselves and the bed sheets around my cold body. His palms pressed flush against my back to pull me in towards him once he was comfortable. His voice spoke out calmly in my ear, “No time for crying, angel.”

 

I peered up at him, not worrying about my red, blotchy cheeks because the light of the world was asleep. I wedged my bottom lip in between my teeth in a pathetic attempt to get it to stop quivering. Suddenly, for the first time in months, I genuinely felt like going to sleep with exhaustion. I swiveled my head a quarter of the way around, my eyes straining to fully reach the archway where the door was nestled.

 

“The answer is yes,” I murmured sleepily.

 

There was a brief pause before I got any kind of response from him. His response to me consisted of one arm dropping from my waist, the other snaking into a more comfortable position, so he could stand next to me.

 

We were silent as we entered the house together. We were silent as he pulled back the duvet and sheets for me to crawl beneath. We were silent as he crawled into the opposite side of the bed. We were silent as his hand slid across the space between us to grab my own. We were silent as he pressed a kiss atop my knuckles. The silence was broken with a hushed whisper from him.

 

“Just because there is someone else, that doesn’t mean they replace you. You were, and still are, my first.”

-

I tugged the sheets up over my face once the singular ray of light peaked through the split in the blinds annoyingly. A small huff passed my lips as I rolled over onto my side to nuzzle my face into the pillow beneath me. The spicy smell that my nose detected was oh so familiar and oh so lovely. I let a smile creep onto my lips. I actually slept. Maybe not for long, but I slept. One eye popped open to see the view before me. However, the view wasn’t what I expected, or at least what I should have expected. The bed was empty sans the tangled sheets. I could feel my stomach drop, but I dismissed the feeling quickly.

 

I decided that I might as well drag myself out of bed before I let the day get away from me. I pushed myself up into sitting position where my legs were dangling off the side of the bed, my hand going to brush my tangled mop of hair out of my face. Once I got the energy, I parted ways from his bedroom to head towards the kitchen for a glass of water. My body tensed when I saw the sight before me in the kitchen. Spread out across the table was two plates housing toast, eggs, sunny side up of course, and two glasses half filled with orange juice. Leaning against the counter with a steaming mug was the boy that never failed to surprise me.

 

“’Might have called into work for the both of us. We have a lot to talk about today.” His voice sounded like honey being poured into hot tea and his smile radiated a glow so beautiful that nothing could seem to compare.

 

I kept my mouth shut, and simply shuffled over to one of the chairs at the table. I was afraid of how my voice may sound if I spoke to him. His figure stayed perched upon the ledge of the counter a moment longer before sauntering towards the chair opposite where I was now sitting. I tilted my head up towards him, and then to the plate in front of me.

 

“I know you have this thing for cold eggs,” he murmured over the rim of his baby blue ceramic mug.

 

I shifted in my seat, tucking one of my legs underneath me. My hands lay folded in my lap as I speak, a faint smile appearing on my lips, “Thanks.”

 

He placed himself in the wicker chair, his legs crossing once he was comfortably situated. “Now, tell me what’s been going on. Don’t act like you didn’t know that I very well knew something more was going on inside your head. You’ve stopped talking a lot. You brush off our friendship, and I have reached the settled conclusion that I have hurt you more than you let on.”

 

I focused on my index finger circling around the rim of my cup. I should have known that this discussion would come. It would probably be best to get it over with now, anyway. 

“You’re not wrong. Recent enough events have put me in a negative place,” I murmured, finally bringing my eyes up to his. He simply nodded in return as if urging me to continue. 

 

“I want someone to love me like I love them. You know you weren’t the only one to let me down, right? I was just cliché enough to believe that third time’s the charm. I was foolish enough to think that the people who brought me into this world would always love me unconditionally.” I paused for a moment before adding, “that’s all I really would like to say.”

 

I watched as a single tear rolled down his cheek. I’m not sure why he was crying, I barely said anything. He uncrossed his legs, and then crossed them the other way, cracking his knuckles at the same time. He seemed antsy. It seemed like eternity before he spoke, but soon enough the silence was breached. 

 

“I love you. Has it ever crossed your mind that I do? I know it’s not the love and intimacy that you need, but it’s what I have. I want you to know that. I need you to know that. Please don’t ever doubt my affection for you.”

 

My lips shut as quickly as I had parted them for what I had to say felt suddenly unnecessary. I tilted my head to the side, involuntarily raising my eyebrow. An exasperated chuckle passed his lips which then quirked into a grin as he wiped the back of his hand over his cheek. “Don’t be so confused, babes. Please, will you come over here now?”

 

With a sudden sense of shyness, I slinked out of my seat. My feet shuffled across the floor to the other side of the table where he sat, his legs now uncrossed. He placed his hand in mine, ushering me to take a seat on his thigh. Without question, I silently did. 

 

“Listen, it’s going to be a rocky road until I leave, but we need to make the most of the time. I need you to be strong when I leave, okay?” He spoke so gently that his breath tickled my cheek. I turned my face towards his.

 

“You promise?” I questioned.

 

“I promise. It’s my priority,” he answered, a smile spreading across his lips. And, for the first time in weeks, I laid my head on his shoulder, my lips curved upwards slightly, a gleam appearing in my eyes again. 

 

“Now that is the boy I know,” he whispered, shifting slightly in his seat. “You have barely touched your food.”

 

“‘M not really hungry. Just thirsty,” I groaned.

 

“I have to know that you will eat, yeah? You good with juice, or would you like something more gentle?”

 

I pushed myself up to standing.  _ Might as well start trying now, right?  _ I shuffled back over to my chair, and tucked one leg underneath me as I went to sit down. My response was soft compared to his radiating voice. “I’ll try something, but I’d rather opt for tea with milk.”

 

“I’ll hop onto that,” he said with a smile.

 

My eyes followed his figure as he went over to the pantry to get out the box of assorted teas that we had. I felt a sudden wave of calm rush over me. But you know they always say, it’s just the calm before the storm.

  
  


Later that evening, we both were sprawled out on the sofa, some 80s drama playing in the background on the television. He lay slouched in the corner of the cushions while I took up the other two cushions, my feet resting on his thighs. Multiple times he tried to rub my feet, but to no avail, I squirmed every time from the tickling sensation. He grinned each time which led me to believe he was just doing it for his own personal, sadistic enjoyment, but I let him continue because his smile looked so beautiful on his face. I’m not really sure what I did to deserve this kind of person in my life.

 

“What are you thinking about?” he questioned suddenly.

 

“You,” I stated, boldly.

 

He quirked his brow, a small chuckle passing his lips. I could see the smile lines surrounding his lips as the noise came from somewhere deep inside him. I saw the wrinkles on his forehead as his eyebrow rose. For some reason, it reminded me of a small puppy, and I couldn’t help but let out an annoying giggle.

 

“What on earth is going on with you?” he questioned, grinning. “First you’re smiling, now you’re laughing? I’m very appreciative to have the old you back.”

 

I rolled my eyes, shimming into the cushions, my arms crossing over my chest. We were quiet again, but not a bitter quiet. It was a warm quiet. It was a peaceful quiet. It was a happy quiet. I watched, well, moreso studied the individual before me. It had been months since I actually paid attention to his appearance. His midnight raven hair was all mussed up and hanging across his forehead instead of the swept back hairstyle he used to have a few months back. The color contrasted perfectly with his caf é au lait skin tone even in the middle of September. His eyes were a gorgeous like sweet, sticky honeycombs. Even though he had naturally darker skin, his cheeks were always a rosy pink shade. His lips were full, but not obscenely so. His hands were strong, but not rough. They were warm, gentle… 

 

“How about I order us a pizza tonight?” he asked while turning to me. My thoughts vanished quickly, and I adjusted my gaze to his baby blue hoodie instead of targeting his face.

 

“I, uh, yes,” I responded while he fought back a smile.

 

“Thin crust mushroom and green pepper?”

 

“Always.”

 

I bent my knees, so he could stand without my feet in the way. He went off into the kitchen to order, and I went back to my never-ending thoughts. Only this time, they were happy.

 

~

 

An hour and three fourths of a pizza later, my head was in his lap, and his hands were in my hair. I felt comfortably full and relaxed. I sure hope that he felt the same. I closed my eyes, then opened them, and spoke, “What made you fall for her?”

 

He looked rather startled by the question I so suddenly asked. His mouth opened then closed. He tilted his head to the side, brought one hand up, and scratched at the side of his neck before settling to answer.

 

“Honestly? Time. The answer is time. I’ve known her longer than any other person. I thought it was right to settle. We were, excuse me, are so similar, so it felt right. When I was twenty-two, I convinced myself that was what I should do. Settle down, that is. I was fresh out of undergrad, and I wanted something more than just school debt and nights with the guys. I didn’t feel the need to put myself out on the line if I knew someone for which I could maintain relations. I’ve realized now after two years that I convinced myself to love someone despite the feeling actually being there.”

 

As if he looked taken aback by my question, I felt even more dumbstruck by his answer. I sat up quickly, turned my body to face him, and crossed my legs like a pretzel. I couldn’t seem to find the right words, so I stumbled, “I, oh- okay. I’m not sure, well- maybe…”

 

“Don’t worry about trying to formulate an answer. I can tell enough from your reaction. But now I have a question for you.”

 

I nodded slightly, my signal to let him ask.

 

“Were you hurt by one of those people you mentioned earlier?”

 

I visibly gulped. All of a sudden, the room felt very warm. It felt like the walls were closing around me. How had he picked that up? I felt my lip start to quiver, then I murmured out what I hoped was an audible “yes”.

 

My vision was blurry with tears when he pulled me onto his lap, his arms circling around my waist. His breath was hot against my neck as he spoke soothingly. “Hush, angel. Why did you never tell me about this? I would have tried to help you, or I would have tried to find someone to help you out of the situation.”

 

I blinked hard, two fat tears rolling down my cheeks. I despised the warm, wet feeling against my skin, so I quickly wiped them away with the sleeve of my shirt. 

 

“Don’t like being a bother. He was just manipulative. And then the next was even more so. And- It was just so much more than mental manipulation. He got me to comply. I thought it was right at the time because I said yes, but I was so wrong. I can’t believe I let myself think it was okay,” I murmured.

 

“Babes… If I had known- Oh my god. You know you can always come to me and talk. Have I ever made you feel like you can’t?” I gave him a serious look, pleading him to stop the conversation there before dropping my head. He paused briefly before speaking again. “I apologize for bringing this up. I just needed to know. Like I said earlier, making you strong is my priority, so I have to know all your weaknesses before building you up.”

 

I looked up at his eyes again. They were still bright, but you could see the frustration and sleepiness behind his fa çade. I nod quickly before whispering softly, “Go to sleep. You have work in the morning. I’ll talk to you about this tomorrow.”

 

He sighed heavily. He knew better than trying to argue with me. If I can’t sleep, that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t. He rubbed his eyes, then set me on the cushion next to him. He grabbed the blanket off the edge of the sofa behind me and draped it over my lap. “Thank you so much for today. Thank you for letting me fix things. I’m beyond proud of you.”

 

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head before walking off to his bedroom, passing me a reassuring smile before closing the door behind him. The conversation felt rushed and quick. It was definitely not a night time conversation. I felt like screaming something at the top of my lungs. Instead, I watched for the light to disappear underneath his bedroom door. Finally, it did. I shrugged the blanket off and stood to go to the back door. The moment my hand touched the cool metal doorknob, I stopped.  _ Not tonight, _ I told myself. I removed my hand from the doorknob then retraced my steps back to the sofa. I needed to be better. I was determined, but I wasn’t sure how long that would even last.

  
  


Wednesdays were the one day that I surely never worked. I always made sure of that. For some reason, it was just not appealing. My mind strayed everywhere that morning, so I tried to dust. I tried to vacuum. I tried doing the dishes. Everything was complete, but my mind was still somewhere else.

 

By noon, he arrived home. The sound of the door shutting behind him jarred me back into reality. I flashed him a quick smile as he shucked his shoes off next to the door, his noir jacket following. He stretched his arms over his head, arching his back as he did so which caused his button up to come untucked from his slacks.

 

“You’re home early. How was work?”

 

“Exhausting. ‘M tired. Come lay down with me.”

 

It wasn’t really a question. It was moreso a demand, but I wasn’t going to say anything about it. I nodded, then stood to follow him into his room. For once I paid attention to the attributes of his chamber. He only had three pieces of furniture: a bed, dresser, and desk. The walls were a soft gray. I sketch of the Louvre hanging above his dresser. Papers were scattered across his desk, but I didn’t mind. There were three stacks of books atop his dresser and his blue hoodie from last night hanging on the top knob of his drawers. When I looked back over at him, he had stripped down to his simple black boxer briefs. He was already pulling the duvet back on the bed when I strolled over to the side opposing the one that he was standing. 

 

“Too much busy work. I want to teach.” He crawled onto the mattress, I doing the same. We both tucked ourselves underneath the warmth of the sheets. He did it out of habit, I did it because I was cold. He draped his arm over my waist which was unusual, but I let the thought pass. The coolness of my skin caused goosebumps to rise on his arms, but his warmth made me relax.

 

“I know you do. You’ll be great at it.”

 

He sighed softly, his fingertips toying with the hem of my high school sweatshirt before they slipped underneath. Pattern after pattern was drawn on my hip bone. I wasn’t sure if I liked it or not. 

 

“Have you ever read “Hills Like White Elephants” by Ernest Hemingway?” he asked.

 

I pondered the question some before responding. “I can’t say that I have.”

 

“Well, Hemingway is very general and abstract. It’s very detached and universal. He tells a story, but the meaning is left to be found by the audience,” he started and I nodded, so he knew that I understood.

 

“I derived a message when I was younger, but I never thought to apply it to my own life until now. Relationships, of any kind, are dangerous. There is one word that is used, but both individuals have a differing meaning behind the word. The differences cause confusion, struggle almost. I think those people are us,” he finished.

 

I blinked. By this point I had realized that his hand had moved farther upwards onto the expanse of my stomach. I shivered from the contact. 

 

“Why might you say that?”

 

“I say it in the name of love. We struggle with the meaning of love. We both interpret it differently, but that doesn’t erase it from our lives.”

 

His thumb brushed back and forth over the skin of my stomach causing my breath to hitch. I lolled my head to the side, so I could look him in the eye for the first time since the conversation started. He was staring directly at me, lips parted slightly.

 

“You believe love is supposed to be what keeps us together and flourish. I believe love is what will break us. Love is cruel, I know you know that somewhere deep down, but you currently believe that the sapped up ideology called love will mend all your wounds. In the end, something will go ary in the great big world of love, and it won’t be able to be patched up. I tell you that I love you, but I don’t let that define us. I find something more than that.”

 

I took a deep breath, not taking my eyes away from his. I was still struggling to find the correct words. He leaned over, his lips brushing my ear, and whispered, “Find something more meaningful than love.”

 

Goosebumps were on my arms even though I had finally turned warm. He inhaled deeply, and I was suddenly fearful, for some ungodly reason, that I no longer smelled of cinnamon. I was wrong because he stayed where he was, his voice soft against my cheek, “Find something that takes you to nirvana.”

 

I nodded, my eyelids falling shut. His hand travelled to the bare skin of my back which caused me to roll onto my side, so the whole front of me faced him. I hummed, he grinned against my cheek.

 

I whispered, “I’m in nirvana.”

 

His hand pressed into my back, so I was pushed closer to his body. He smelled of mint and soap. I adored it. He continued to rub circles on my lower back while I rested my head on his shoulder. We laid like that for what felt like eternity, but I didn’t mind one bit. I felt soothed. I felt relaxed. I felt calm, yet I still didn’t know how long that would last.

 

After forever, he scooted backwards from me, removing his hand from my skin as well. I felt the temperature drop once his body heat was gone. My eyes shot open to look at him. His eyes were already open, looking at me. It was a strange look. I had never seen him look at me that way before. I had no idea if I found it peaceful or odd. He reached out and trailed his index finger down my clothed arm. His cheeks looked slightly more flushed than usual. I assumed that he was just overly exhausted after last night and work this morning. I mean, mental processing does increase your heart rate which tires one out.

 

“Maybe you should get some sleep.”

 

My sentence was followed by him curling his hand around my hip, pulling my body back towards his. He murmured, “Soon.”

 

His lips parted, his head tilted, and his lips pressed against mine. My body tensed, but I quickly pushed him off me, throwing the duvet off at the same time.

 

“Damn it, I-,” he started.

 

I left his room hurriedly, not even bothering to shut the door behind me. 

 

Tears were already falling down my cheeks by the time I was comfortably situated in my chair on the porch. I felt like vomiting. I felt played. I felt insulted. I felt sick. I felt violated. I felt so much more than I needed to be feeling right now. He cracked me open to find my weaknesses only to use those weaknesses against me, not build me.

 

He didn’t bother coming outside for two hours. I was thankful for that. After that, he brought me a cup of tea. He didn’t say a word. I didn’t thank him. The only sound was the door shutting behind him. I didn’t go back inside that night. I couldn’t bear being inside any room with him. I could barely stand the thought of him. Somehow, the chilly outdoors seemed less bitter than the warm inside of the place I sadly called home. 

 

At this point I knew that I was thrown into the storm.

  
  


Don’t get me wrong, I loved working at the caf é, but sometimes the human interaction was toxic. They were rushed. They were impatient. They were rude, but no matter how chipper I decided to be, they all maintained the same persona. Now, I did have the occasional sweet customer that tipped well, and seemed to have all the time in the world to wait for their coffee. However, my favorite customer was this one young girl. She was probably seventeen. I assumed a senior in high school with all the busy work that she had when she grabbed the corner booth. She never ordered anything, but I learned that she loved jasmine tea, so I would leave a cup on the table, no big deal. I wished that I had been as studious and careful as she appeared. Maybe my outcome would have been better.

 

I glanced up at the clock on the wall, then to the table in the corner where he typically sits. No one. My shift was due to end in fifteen minutes, and he was nowhere to be seen. It was rather atypical of him. I was already on edge from yesterday. Now I was worried that he feared me. I shook the thought out of my head and got back to work.

 

Fifteen minutes and two customers later, he showed up right as I was circling around to the front of the counter. He looked slightly disheveled, but beautiful nonetheless. I cautiously stepped towards him.

 

“Hey, sorry that I was running behind. I was caught up at work, and I needed to stop by the store to grab something,” he spoke hurriedly.

 

I shrugged and murmured, “I don’t feel well. Take me home.”

 

His shoulders dropped, but he brushed it off as he led me out to the car. In the passenger seat, there was a long bag hanging from the head rest. Confusion ran through my mind. He must have noticed, so he spoke up.

 

“I want to take you out to dinner tomorrow.”

 

“You know I don’t do that.” I moved the bag out of the way so I could sit down, draping the plastic bag across my lap.

 

“I know.” He got into the car. The car ride home was silent.

 

~

 

It was just past eight when I decided to clean up. I didn’t want to, but I needed to. It was the only thing that could make me feel minimally alive, but I had no energy. Instead I stood outside the bathroom door simply staring at it.

 

“Let me help you,” a voice whispered.

 

It was the smallest I had ever heard him sound. All I could do was nod in response. He pushed open the door and ushered me inside the small space. I kept staring in front of me, my eyes now trained on the lip of the bathtub.

 

“Will you turn around?” I asked softly.

 

He let out a small sigh, but he did as he was told to. I shimmied my gray sweats off which was followed by my white tee that had lavender paint splatters across it. I quickly removed my underwear, chucking them aimlessly to the floor. I reached for the towel placed on the rack beside me. The material felt comforting against my skin as I wrapped it around myself.

 

“Okay,” I stated.

 

He turned, glanced at the clothing on the ground, then up to my face. He opted to stay silent which put me on edge even more than I already was. He put the plug in the drain before turning the water on all the way up to its hottest setting. He knew well.

 

Once the tub was filled halfway, I dropped my towel and stepped into the basin. My eyes trailed up to his face. His eyes were shut, his eyelashes fluttering against the tops of his cheeks. I sunk down into the scalding water, my knees coming up to my chest. I wrapped my arms around them before getting the courage to speak, “Open.”

 

He obliged, but he kept his eyes away from mine. This wasn’t customary, which heightened my fear more. He reached out for the cup on the edge of the tub, so he could wet my hair with the water. When he poured the water over me, it felt euphoric. The sound of the shampoo lid being popped open followed. The smell of white tea filtered into the air especially when he started massaging the liquid into my scalp.

 

“I need to tell you something very important, angel.”

  
  


This was the moment I feared. I knew that there was something going on with him today. Now would be the moment to know. I hummed to let him know I was listening. He caught on and continued.

 

“I got a call from the university I’m headed to next year. They want me to do an eight month internship in the Literature department.” He continued massaging my scalp.

 

My heart soared, I was so proud of him. However, I felt like there was more to this than he was telling me. I shifted slightly in the cooling water.

 

“It starts at the beginning of October.” He filled the cup with more water, so he could rinse the soap out of my hair.

 

And there was the bomb. My heart quickly dropped from my throat to the pit of my stomach.

 

“I would have to leave next Monday to get settled and all the papers out of the way. That’s why I wanted to take you out tomorrow. I wanted to have one last proper evening before I go.” He filled the cup again and rinsed the remaining suds out of my hair.

 

“That’s nice,” I muttered as he coughed, “I’m proud.”

 

He sighed softly. “But I had made a promise. I made something, someone, else my priority.”

 

I shrugged, unfazed. “Do something for yourself.”

 

I could hear him shifting around even though my wet hair brushed the tops of my ears. I assumed he was finished since the water was no longer running. 

 

“But, I-”

 

“Go.”

 

“Ang-”

 

“Go.”

 

He stopped. He stood. He left.

 

He would be gone in three days.

 

I sighed. I shivered. I cried.

  
  


I assumed that it was time for me to leave for work when he poked his head out the back door the next day, the moon still hovering above. I shrugged, uninterested. “I’m going to take my bike today.”

 

He didn’t even bother arguing the fact that it was dark outside. He knew better than that. It was the only thing I could appreciate in him right now. When the door shut, I glanced down at the untouched cup of tea in front of me. Such a waste. 

 

I waited for what seemed like a reasonable amount of time for him to depart before heading back inside the house. My cheeks were wind burned, and my fingers were numb, blissfully so. The heat inside burned when it hit my skin due to the prolonged chill I sat in, but I dismissed the feeling quickly.

 

I did a three sixty of the space before me. With that, I decided that I didn’t want to go to work today. I didn’t want anymore human contact. I didn’t want to be used or made fun of or played. I was sick of the ticking in my head. I was sick of getting no sleep. He would be gone in two days from now. He had promised that he would make me strong. It all was a built up lie. He picked me up, ripped me, and left me to rot in my own sorrow.

 

I stormed into his room, heading straight for the books on his dresser. I scanned each binding until I found the one that said Ernest Hemingway on it. I tugged it from underneath all the other books, not caring that they went tumbling to the ground. I leafed through the pages until I found the section labeled “Hills Like White Elephants”. I immediately tore them out, stomping out of the room after I did. 

 

My next move was towards the kitchen. I needed something to keep me occupied, and there it was, placed on top on the fridge. Right there was a cheap bottle of Four Roses that he got when he went to visit his parents this past summer in Kentucky. I wasn’t typically a hard liquor kind of guy, but I needed it. I craved it.

 

The last thing I needed was in the bathroom. Perhaps it was the most crucial thing I needed today. Right in the front of the cabinet was my bottle of Trazodone. I refused to actually take it when I was supposed to, so why not a bulk catch up?

 

I moved into my bedroom, a place that I hadn’t been in for about a week. The space was clear. It smelled clean. It felt like me. I took a blue pen off my desk before sitting down in the center of the floor. Time for some fun.

 

About a third of the bottle, five pills, and seven read-through's later, I was warm. I was buzzing. I was beyond content. I had no idea what the time it was. All I knew is that it was some time of day where the sun was shining outside. I was out of it, but I could tell that my phone was vibrating against the comforter on my bed. I fumbled to reach for it, but I finally grasped it in my hand, randomly pressing at the screen, hoping it was the answer button. I put my phone to my ear, slurring, “Hellooooo!”

 

“Where the hell are you? I came to pick you up from work, so you didn’t have to ride your bike home only to have your coworker tell me that you never showed up!” He was panicking while I was giggling in the background. I popped another one of my pills, washing it down with a swig from the bottle.

 

“I- Are you drinking?” he demanded.

 

I giggled like a schoolgirl. “Yeah, ‘s fuuun.”

 

“I’m coming home right now. Please, stop.” 

 

“Nah, hic, ya won’ make it in time,” I slurred.

 

“Hon, what do you- Please stop right this instance,” he begged as I downed two more pills with a gulp of bourbon. “I’m getting in the car right now.”

 

“Y-ya not gonna mak-ke it,” I spoke, taking the last pill out of the tube and downing it.

 

“Angel, don’t you dare say that. Listen to me. Please stay on the phone. I’m so sorry. Please, honey, please,” he begged furiously.

 

“Na gon ma…” I trailed off, dropping my phone beside me. I could barely make out his voice in the ear piece. All I could decipher was screams of panic. I took one last gulp of the burning liquid, the bottle tipping onto the floor spilling out next to me. I glanced down at the blurred lines on the page in front of me. I couldn’t read it, but I knew what it said. I underlined it each time I read through the text. I repeated it to myself one last time, “And if I do it you’ll be happy and things will be like they were and you will love me?”

 

That was the last thought I had before the world was black and finally filled with silence.

  
  


My eyes shot open, and I gasped for air. The smell was bitter around me. There were soft beeping sounds. My head throbbed continuously and my eyes were burning from the bright white around me which caused me to squint. I heard the rustle of sheets next to me.

 

“Hi, sweetheart,” a voice whispered soothingly.

 

I lolled my head to the side, a familiar, slightly blurry face staring back at me There was a smile on the face which caused the muscles around my lips to twitch, pathetically trying to curve up into a smile.

 

“Hi, Zayn,” I choked out while he pulled his chair closer to the bed.

 

“I wasn’t sure if I made it on time, but I did,” he murmured, a hand reaching out to stroke my hair gently.

 

“‘M sorry for taking all those pills and for being so quiet and mucking these past few months up,” I spoke raspily.

 

He tilted his head to the side, his eyebrows furrowing as he did so. He brought his hand down to brush his thumb over the curve of my cheek.

 

“Liam, what on earth are you talking about?”

 

“I-I’m in here b-because I tried to kill myself.”

 

He looked taken aback by my statement. “Babes, you are in here because you had a heart transplant surgery. I just got to the hospital to check up on you one last before I leave for Massachusetts tomorrow. Today just seems to be the day that you woke up for the first time.”

 

I took a shaky breath. I felt heat rise up to my cheeks. My memories had turned into sadistic nightmares. It was all coming back to me. Being cold from the lack of oxygen. Feeling heartbroken all the time. Needing love to mend my worst of wounds. Requiring help to do basic functions. Having my best friend leave my side. Everything that played in my mind made sense.

 

“Zayn, let me tell you a story,” I whispered.

 

And I did tell him the story, albeit pausing multiple times as the nurses came in to run a few tests and check on my vitals. I told him the ups and I told him the downs, sparing the part about my feelings. He filled me in on all that had happened while I was in here. He made my memories real again. 

 

Hours passed. I was glad to spend this moment with him. Once visiting hours were coming to a close, I got the courage to speak up for what I needed to do most.

 

“Zayn, may I ask you something?”

 

“Ask away, angel.”

 

“Do you love me?”

 

“Of course I do. That’s a silly question.”

 

“And I, you, but do you let the love define who we are?”

 

“I love, but I don’t let it define anything between us. Love breaks, and it is dangerous. I would never let love come between what we already have.”

 

I let a small smile appear on my lips. “Someone once told me that I should find something that means more than love. You know what? I listened to that. It might be the only thing I listened to that they said, but I took it. I used it. I applied it to my life.”

 

“Have you found your nirvana?” he murmured.

 

“Absolutely.”

 

He carded his fingers through my hair. “Tell me about him.”

 

“And if I do it you’ll be happy and-” I started.

 

“Things will be like they were and you’ll love me?” he finished, pausing before he continued, a smile across his face. “Hemingway. I didn’t know you were so fond.”

 

“Have to have something to talk about in nirvana, don’t I?” I whispered.

 

“Maybe so, Li,” he chuckled, “maybe so.”

  
  


The first three months outside the hospital were the hardest. My mom helped out a lot since Zayn left for Massachusetts. I got the color back in my cheeks. I felt warm again. I felt put together. I felt unstoppable. 

 

Once I was able to fly, I got on a plane for Boston to go see Zayn. He had called me every morning and every night since he left, so I felt more than obligated to give him something in turn for watching out for my well being. To say the least, he was in shock to see me. He might have cried, but that’s a different story. I stayed with him for three weeks. 

 

In those three weeks, we grew closer than we had ever been in the ten years of knowing each other. It was also the first time he kissed me. I cried, and he refused to let go of me for the rest of the night. He made me tea every morning, and every night he tucked me in next to him. On the last day as he said our goodbyes in the airport, he asked me to be his nirvana. We both laughed at just how corny it sounded. We both cried. We both quoted Hemingway. And I said yes.

 

Five months after leaving Massachusetts, I sold our old apartment in Oregon, so I could move out to the east coast to be closer to him. He started schooling right after I arrived. I worked in the small caf é outside of campus doing what I love most.

 

It was mid November when the first snow hit, and boy did it hit hard. School was cancelled. I called in for the first time since I started. We both spent the day in sweatpants and hoodies on the couch with warm cider and crappy cartoons. It was just before bed when he asked something unexpected.

 

“What made you chose your nirvana?”

 

I hummed softly, and curled up closer to him on the couch. “Back when I was in the hospital, I had that dream, well nightmare, and even though it wasn’t real, I could still see the real you. I could feel you. You were there by my side, right? You promised to make me a priority. You promised to make me strong. That’s something even better than love. I knew that is what I needed. I knew that is what I wanted. I knew I reached it when I saw it in your face the moment I woke up.”

 

“I like that. I like your story. Your nightmare was like a Hemingway story. Truly abstract. It made you create your own meaning. I think that’s why I wanted you in my life. You created your meaning without asking for assistance. You are independent. You are witty. You are beautiful.”

 

Those were the last spoken words of the night. Not that I minded because the best times for us were always made in silence.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for letting me share this with you.  
> Twitter: eiffelwt


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